Running on Misinformation
by valeriange
Summary: (Part 1 of Misinformed) Ratchet had changed. He had become the conjunx that Pharma always wanted, only with another bot, and Pharma was left to hopelessly watch their happy ever after.


Ratchet had changed. He had become the conjunx that Pharma always wanted, only with another bot, and Pharma was left to hopelessly watch their happy ever after.

To say Pharma was welcomed aboard the Lost Light following his overtaking of Adaptus was a stretch. There may have been an intervention to save him from Solomus, but that was as far as the crew's concern for him went. Ultra Magnus was quick to suggest he occupy the brig, but Rung – Primus, of all bots – retaliated with the great point that he was, after all, a medic, and facing an alternate Primus, they would likely need every medic they can get.

Ratchet was not happy. Then again, Ratchet was rarely happy. Even during the best times of their relationship, there was a sort of gruffness that never left his personality. Pharma had learned to live with it. He really had loved Ratchet, grumpiness and all, and there was something securing in knowing that there was little chance anybody else would. Jealousy was not something he had to worry about.

Ratchet put up with him. That was the only way he could describe it. He avoided him when he could, ignored him when they had to be in the same room, and put up with him when they were forced to interact. It was a harsh difference to the conjunx status they had once had. They had once shared a berth; now they couldn't even share a medbay.

Pharma knew Drift. He hadn't realized at first, but he did.

Ratchet's Dead End clinic had been Pharma's nightmare. To see Ratchet's impeccable skill wasted on dead and dying bots without a chance made his spark spin with fury. Time Ratchet could have spent progressing his career, caring for bots who could actually make a difference, who mattered, he instead spent bent over repurposed recharge slabs trying to put irretrievably broken bots back together again.

Pharma had been forced to spend time there just to see his conjunx. Suddenly Pharma's want to grab a drink with his conjunx was not nearly as important as fixing up some nameless leaker on his deathbed. Their conjunx bond was pushed to the side, and Pharma made his way to the Dead End Clinic to chase after it.

He had seen Drift in his worst days – as a dying Dead End leaker on circuit boosters. Then, he had been covered in grime from the streets, his plating dented or mismatched, his paint chipped and dirty and his optics yellow and glossy and empty. He was nothing, just another hopeless spark that Ratchet thought he was good enough to fix.

The Drift on the Lost Light was a far cry from the one in the Dead End, but he still had the same optics – though blue now – and the same sleek red and white plating. Pharma glanced down at his own frame and started to wonder if Ratchet had a type. He was taller than Drift, of a rarer frame type, with the training of a medic and a rich history. There was nothing that Drift had that Pharma didn't have better.

Drift was an unrelenting presence in the medbay, as Pharma soon found out. He didn't take precautions to avoid Ratchet the way Ratchet did with him. If his conjunx couldn't handle him being in the same room, perhaps it was time for him to move out of the medbay himself. Seeing Ratchet, seeing him work, hearing his snide remarks, it filled Pharma's spark with a sense of familiarity, of home, that the rest of the Lost Light lacked. But wherever Ratchet went, most any time, Drift was at his side.

When Pharma took his place in the medbay, he imagined himself working alongside his conjunx. There would be arguments, then bantering, and slowly Ratchet would come around to the idea that what he had done at Delphi had, inevitably, been for the best, and they would reunite as conjunx. It was painfully romantic, and Pharma had sneered at himself for thinking of it, but he couldn't keep the smallest amount of hope out of his spark when he ended up in the same room as Ratchet.

Unfortunately, it was never just them. He never had a chance to start a conversation that could open them back up to talking. First Aid was no use as an accomplice, seeing as he had yet to forgive Pharma for the whole 'lengthways' debacle. Whirl had taken a liking to Pharma, but he wasn't exactly tactful. Drift, though, was a close figure to Ratchet who was commonly in the same vicinity as Pharma and not always at Ratchet's side.

It didn't take long after figuring that Drift was his best chance at getting his conjunx back that he realized why Drift and Ratchet were so inseparable: they were calling themselves conjunx.

It was alien to witness – to see Ratchet allowing Drift to accompany him in the things he had done alone before. Ratchet hadn't even allowed Pharma to shadow his every footstep when they were conjunx working in the same hospital. The times they had to work together, Ratchet dismissed small talk and discussion of things unrelated to work with curt comments. Now, from across the medbay, Pharma heard Ratchet and Drift discussing some new concoction at Swerve's while Ratchet filed datapads on a shelf.

A part of him was in denial. How could Ratchet have moved on when Pharma couldn't? Pharma had the looks, the attitude, the ability. Ratchet was more interested in work than anything. How could he have moved on to another lover while Pharma was still mourning the loss of their relationship? It didn't seem right. It didn't seem plausible.

The only security he had was the fact that, whatever Ratchet may call himself and Drift, _he_ was Ratchet's conjunx. He was Ratchet's first love; he had been the one Ratchet gave his spark to, all the way back at the Academy, before the Dead End was even realized. Drift would never have Ratchet's spark the way he had.

"They're in love, aren't they?" Pharma said quietly one day, as he and First Aid worked on stabilizing a bot's leg.

First Aid didn't ask who, but for the first time since Pharma arrived, he gave him a response. "Yes."

Ratchet had changed. He had become the conjunx that Pharma always wanted, only with another bot, and Pharma was left to hopelessly watch their happy ever after.

Not even Swerve's was safe.

It had been a fight convincing Ultra Magnus that he was trustworthy enough to leave the medbay. It had been like another fight against the DJD to convince him he was trustworthy enough to ingest some engex, and no, if he got tipsy and upset, he wouldn't slice another bot in half.

Pharma lived in a constant state of upset now. If only he could live in a constant state of tipsy as well.

Pharma hadn't noticed Drift and Ratchet enter; he had been concerned with studying the slightly off tint of his engex.

"It's fine," Swerve said, again. "Just drink it."

He tilted the glass up to the light. "I think it's poison."

"It's my most popular drink." There was a pause, and he added, "Also no refunds."

It was nothing like the high grade he had had access to before. It might as well have been regular energon for all he cared. As he twisted his head to hide the distasteful expression he made to avoid being kicked out – again – he saw the frame of his former conjunx settling in to a booth near the middle of the wall with his new conjunx.

Pharma narrowed his optics. Ratchet had never liked going out. Too much work to be done, he said. Pharma never argued; it just meant more money to spend on his own engex. Sometimes he even encouraged it, because there was no bot that could be more a killjoy than Ratchet. Having Ratchet as a conjunx was great – the status, the superiority, the bragging rights, the money – but having him as a dating partner was a drag, especially when alone, he could find so many interesting bots to waste the night with, and then return to his status in the morning.

They didn't order anything. Pharma said, "Is this a bar or a lounge?"

Swerve glanced up, saw where he was looking, and said, "Ratchet bought so much engex in the first leg of this trip, he can stay in here however long he wants."

That made Pharma feel slightly better. Maybe Ratchet had been affected by the distance in their bond just like he had. Maybe he had turned to engex out of sadness, rather than boredom or some other explanation Pharma wasn't about to think of. He _hoped_ it was out of sadness. He hoped Ratchet had hurt. He hoped Ratchet had suffered before trying to replace him.

He spent the rest of his evening staring into a half-empty glass, turning Swerve away each time he tried to refill it with more of that swill. He was able to see a reflection of Drift and Ratchet in the glass. They were just… talking. Just talking. And Ratchet was occasionally smiling, and Drift had a very Decepticon-like smirk on his face, and Pharma gritted his denta.

Ratchet's laugh was an unfamiliar thing to hear. Pharma had heard it so few times to begin with, and it had been so long. The sound was cut off abruptly, and Pharma allowed himself one glance around.

The Decepticon was kissing his conjunx, their servos intertwined on the table. His sleek speedster form had easily maneuvered halfway across the table to close the distance between them. Both sets of optics were closed, oblivious to Pharma looking on.

His conjunx had never been one for public displays of affection. Any attempt from Ratchet to hold his hand, to kiss his cheek, was met with a swift remark on professionalism and appearance, and Ratchet had never fought the rules – at least, not for Pharma. Pharma had assumed over time that Ratchet was just not an affection mech at heart. Pharma was his conjunx; if there was anyone Ratchet could be affectionate with, it was _him_.

He turned around and saw Swerve cocking an eyebrow at him. He said, "You're pretty lax on the PDA rules here."

Swerve just said, "Ah, right. You haven't been in here when Whirl's here yet."

Pharma frowned. "Whirl doesn't have a mouth."

He heard the sound of pedes, and a quick glance behind him saw Ratchet rising, his servo still in Drift's. He was smiling softly, his optics dim and entirely focused on the speedster in front of him. Drift's expression was just as hopelessly sweet. He pulled Ratchet toward the door, Ratchet falling easily into step beside him. He said something Pharma couldn't hear, and Drift's smile widened to a brightening state.

No. Pharma turned back to glare daggers into his glass. He was not going to think about them now. He was not going to think about his conjunx at all. Not now. _No_.

"Swerve," he said, "what does Whirl do? _He doesn't have a mouth_. Swerve?"

Pharma gave himself a couple hours to sleep off the insane amount of engex he had consumed in the hour or so following their departure, and then arrived back in the medbay. First Aid was surprised – and unhappy – to see him so unexpectedly. He gave him a cold look, but didn't say anything.

Pharma scrounged around the medbay looking for mind-consuming work. He couldn't deal with his processor swirling around all the ideas of where his conjunx had gone off to with another mech, looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. He didn't want to wonder if Ratchet had ever looked at him like that. He knew the answer.

The time for Ratchet's shift came, much to Pharma's dread. He walked in with a datapad in his servos and a faint, barely-there smile on his faceplates. Pharma's spark sunk.

"Ratchet." First Aid appeared out of the back. "I prepared a list of the—" He stopped. "Oh. You have it."

Ratchet waved a hand. "Drift stopped by and got it before his shift."

"I didn't see him."

Ratchet muttered something about "sneaky fragging ninjas" and started pulling files from the shelves. Pharma allowed himself a long look as Ratchet's back was turned, and as he quickly swiveled his head back around, he caught sight of the glare First Aid was giving him. It was a new type of glare, unlike the numerous glares First Aid had consistently thrown his way since joining.

Pharma watched Drift, watched him with Ratchet and watched him without him.

He was not the gutter mech that Ratchet had saved back in the Dead End, that was for sure. This mech was confident, pretty, hopeful, intelligent, a gifted speech writer and a loyal third-in-command. Rodimus had taken him in as his amica and even Ultra Magnus seemed unconcerned at the ex-Decepticon in their ranks and by their captain's spark.

He was everything that Pharma never imagined Ratchet would end up with. Then again, he never imagined Ratchet would end up with anyone except him. They had worked well together. Their relationship had been a competition that kept both of them on their pedes and at the best of their ability. There was no such aspect to his relationship with Drift.

Ratchet would become soft. Pharma didn't doubt it. Without him to keep Ratchet at the top of his game, he would crumble, and Drift would be to blame. Sometimes two mechs just didn't belong together, and Pharma had the grounds on which to stand between them.

"Stop it."

Pharma turned around to see First Aid, his visor glowing in the dim light of the medbay in the late evening. He put down the scalpel he was polishing. "Stop what?"

"Watching them. Scowling at them like you're debating who to cut in half first."

"You're still upset about that? I said sorry."

First Aid took a step closer, and Pharma stood up.

"You're not my superior officer anymore," First Aid said. "I'm _yours_. Ratchet gave the CMO title to _me_."

"An evidence of his progressing downfall," Pharma said.

First Aid's visor flashed with anger. "Why can't you just accept that we're happy now? Why can't you leave things be and work on yourself rather than trying to ruin everything we've got here?"

"I'm trying to fix things!" Pharma said. "Ratchet is _my_ conjunx, not—"

"He _was_ your conjunx," First Aid said. "Optimus Prime dissolved it on Ratchet's orders after they left for Earth. You know this. You were notified. He hasn't been your conjunx for years now."

Pharma stared at him. "What do you mean? He… dissolved it?"

For the first time, First Aid's glare softened the slightest bit. "A Prime can negate a conjunx bond. Ratchet had Optimus Prime dissolve yours. Prowl notified you of this on Delphi. I saw the message in the inbox, addressed to you. It was opened. You read it."

"I… no. No. Ratchet didn't…"

"He called you _friend_ on Delphi," First Aid pointed out. "Not conjunx, not sparkmate, not bonded. What did you think he meant?"

Pharma's processor spun. In front of him, the visual feed of First Aid standing there seemed to glitch slightly. His jaw was clamped so tightly shut that his denta ached.

"Ratchet and Drift have been conjunx for a few years now," said First Aid. "You can't have two conjunx bonds at once, at least not without the other consenting. They had the ceremony after Ratchet retrieved Drift from exile. We all saw it. If you were still his conjunx, you would have known."

So Ratchet, even when he was still Pharma's conjunx, couldn't even stay to finish a conversation, but Ratchet, before even becoming Drift's conjunx, could search the galaxy and retrieve him from exile? It had taken years for Pharma to convince Ratchet they should become conjunx – years of dating and pleading and reasoning with him to no avail – but a few short years and one journey later and Ratchet fell happily into a conjunx bond with Drift?

No. No, it didn't add up. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. There was no way his conjunx, his Ratchet, would break their bond and then move on with someone else so soon, when Pharma had fought so hard to become his conjunx. He couldn't just throw away all the effort Pharma had put into him, into their relationship. He _couldn't_. It wasn't _fair_. It wasn't _right_. It wasn't _Ratchet_.

He didn't know when First Aid left, but he sat back down and tried to control the spiraling thoughts in his processor. It all came back one conclusion: First Aid had to be lying. He was angry about Ambulon still, and he was lying. He knew how much Pharma loved Ratchet, and how much he wanted him back, and he wanted to make it seem like an impossibility. It was the only explanation. It _had_ to be the explanation.

"Pharma."

He looked up. Ratchet stood in the doorway, which softly closed behind him as he stepped inside Pharma's makeshift office. His servos were crossed over his chest, but he didn't look angry. Tired, and perhaps a bit sad, but not angry. Pharma almost wished he were. He wanted a fight, as if winning an argument could win Ratchet back.

"He wasn't lying, was he?" Pharma asked quietly.

Ratchet took a deep vent in. "We weren't conjunx a long time before I dissolved the bond," Ratchet said. "Having Optimus do that was just for official reasons."

A horrible feeling of loss, of confusion – such unfamiliar emotions – were welling up inside Pharma. "Why didn't we ever talk about it? Fix things?"

"I _tried_," Ratchet said. "I tried to set boundaries, to find common ground. I tried to fix us. You never listened to me."

"I— when?"

"The months before Delphi. The _years_," Ratchet said. "You think I didn't enjoy a good cup of engex after a long day of work? You think I didn't know about the other mechs? You think I didn't want to tell you about my day the same way you told me about yours? You think I didn't want to kiss you on the way home without you saying how it looked? Pharma, I tried. _You_ didn't."

Pharma couldn't bring himself to say sorry. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be sorry for. He didn't remember any change in their relationship in those last few years, except for an increase in arguments, perhaps. Over what? Small things, he was sure, things that he didn't even remember now. Who had started them? Had Pharma? Was Ratchet just trying to guilt him until he felt no bigger than a turbofox?

"Pharma." Ratchet's voice was soft, and Pharma remembered those few but precious early departures from the hospital on slow days when they could have an early evening in bed with no worries.

"You're my _conjunx_," Pharma protested quietly.

"I'm _Drift's_ conjunx," Ratchet said. "I haven't been your conjunx since you left for Delphi. Optimus dissolved our bond. Prowl sent a notification to Delphi for you, which you read."

Pharma's jaw gears groaned as he ground his denta together. Rage blossomed in his chassis. His vision blurred with anger. He stood up abruptly, the stool he had perched upon clattering to the floor. Ratchet quickly took a step back.

"What does he have that I don't?" Pharma demanded. "I'm a seeker, he's just a speedster. I'm a medic, he's an ex-Decepticon. I've saved thousands of mechs, and he's killed innumerable scores of Autobots – _your_ comrades! I was the best student you ever taught at the Academy, and while I was studying and learning and working at your side, he was in the gutters of the Dead End frying his brain module on circuit boosters! _I'm_ better than _him_! _Why didn't you pick me_?"

Ratchet stared at him with wide optics. In a static-laden voice, Pharma said, "I needed your help on Delphi. I was so scared. I was horrified at what I was doing, and I knew you would be too. I needed your _help_. I needed you to _care about me_. But when I was hanging over the edge of a cliff, begging for your help, _you chose him_. You let me fall and you took my hands, the hands you taught how to be a medic, and you went _with him_. You never even _looked_ for me."

Ratchet's gaze had softened. "I'm so sorry, Pharma," he said.

"I think I knew, then," Pharma said. "I had a lot of time to think at the bottom of the ravine, unable to move." Ratchet winced. "I just kept seeing you, in the medbay, rushing to that speedster instead of me, holding his servo in both of yours. I was your conjunx – well, your former conjunx – and he was a mech you barely knew, but you went to him instead of me."

"I think I loved him, even then," Ratchet murmured. "I don't think I was ready to admit it to myself."

Pharma looked away from Ratchet. "You know I can't be happy for you."

"You're angry. I know."

"I'm _jealous_." Pharma gave a humorless laugh. "You know, when I first arrived here, I tried to figure out who in the medbay would make the best accomplice to get me back in your good graces, to repair the conjunx bond that apparently didn't even exist anymore. I thought about Drift."

Ratchet gave an equally dry laugh. "I doubt that would have worked out the way you imagined."

There was a silence, and Ratchet said, "Drift wants this to work out. Us. He…" Ratchet sighed. "He said he doesn't like the tension. I have to agree. I want this to be resolved."

Pharma's smile was empty. "Oh, Ratchet," he said. "I do believe we will always have to be unfinished business."


End file.
